


heavy hope

by nasa



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers - Ambiguous Fandom
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Break Up, Established Relationship, Happy Ending, Hurt/Comfort, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-09
Updated: 2018-12-09
Packaged: 2019-09-14 15:04:41
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,293
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16915146
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nasa/pseuds/nasa
Summary: The first few days after the breakup are rough. Steve feels like someone has hollowed out his chest with a dessert spoon, and he must look it, too, because Bucky takes one glance at him, limp and pale in the living room, suitcase abandoned by his feet, and wraps him up into the strongest hug Steve’s ever received. He explains it all to Bucky that night, with a sort of robotic stillness, how Tony had dumped him in their Californian hotel room, said I don’t love you enough, this is it. Goodbye.





	heavy hope

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [Wrapped Up In Clover](https://archiveofourown.org/works/15139493) by [FestiveFerret](https://archiveofourown.org/users/FestiveFerret/pseuds/FestiveFerret). 



> inspired by FestiveFerret's AMAZING fic 'Wrapped Up in Clover', this takes a sort of divergent path on what is basically the main plot point. whoops. you don't need to have read that to understand this, but if you haven't read that, what are you doing with your life???
> 
> thank you so much ferret for letting my mess around in your world! i hope you enjoy this :)
> 
> title inspired by landslide by oh wonder

The first few days after the breakup are - rough.

That’s a weak way to put it: they’re more than rough. Steve feels like someone has hollowed out his chest with a dessert spoon, and he must look it, too, because Bucky takes one glance at him, limp and pale in the living room, suitcase abandoned by his feet, and wraps him up into the strongest hug Steve’s ever received. He explains it all to Bucky that night, with a sort of robotic stillness, how Tony had dumped him in their Californian hotel room, said  _I don’t love you enough, this is it. Goodbye._

He spends the next few days in a sort of stupor, sure that this is all a mistake, that Tony will call. But hours turn into days and then a full week has passed with no contact from Tony at all. On day eight, Steve pulls open his phone to check Tony’s location - not in a creepy way, just to make sure he’s home, that he’s safe - and finds that Tony has blocked his number. He’s blocked him on Snapchat, too, and Twitter, and every other form of contact Steve can think of. It hits him, then, in the middle of their little kitchen: Tony isn’t coming back.

It’s like a punch to the gut, and Steve finds him crumpling over on the hard tile. Tony is gone. Tony is not coming back. Tony doesn’t love Steve anymore. It wasn’t a snap decision, wasn’t a mistake - Steve just wasn’t enough, in some way or another. Steve is alone.

Sam finds him there a good twenty minutes later, still crying, his forehead pressed against the cupboard. “Oh, Steve,” he sighs when he sees him, but Steve can’t stop the sobs, can’t stop his heart creaking in his chest. He lets Sam pull him up, drag him to bed and wrap him up in blankets, curl around him and offer him the best comfort he can. It’s not enough. Nothing will be enough. Tony is gone.

The next few weeks pass in a blur of cheap ice cream and soft blankets and hugs that offer little comfort. Steve feels deadened, unable to concentrate on anything but this gaping hole inside him. He moves like a zombie, dragging his feet from task to task. He watches movies without knowing what he’s seeing, reads news and doesn’t process any of it, tucks his paints away in a corner where he doesn’t have to look at them. Steve’s never had a break up this bad before, because he’s never had a relationship this good before, one he wanted to last, a person he wanted to spend the rest of his life with. It’s cognitive dissonance: Tony is gone, and Steve’s world is shifted, and suddenly, he doesn’t know which way is up.

So almost a month after the breakup, at ten p.m. on a Friday, instead of hanging out with his friends, Steve is sitting on the couch in the living room, eating a pint of ice cream and watching happy penguin couples nuzzling at each other. The visual makes his heart hurt, but not more than he can handle, so he keeps watching, letting the cold ice cream soothe the pain.

He’s almost to the bottom of his pint, and debating whether he should really go for a second, when the doorbell rings. For a second, he considers not answering.  It’s been a long day, and Steve just doesn’t feel like he has the energy or the mind to deal with someone right now. But the specter of his Ma, always present at the back of his mind, prods him to set down the ice cream and climb to his feet.

He’s not sure what he’s expecting when he opens the door. One of Bucky’s friends, maybe, come to drag him away from his homework; someone lost, looking for directions; a damn Jehovah’s witness. But he doesn’t find any of those things. Instead, he finds this: Tony, soaking wet from the rain, hair astray, bruises and wrinkles deepening under his eyes, skin pasty pale. He looks like shit. He takes Steve’s breath away.

“I’m sorry,” Tony croaks out as soon as Steve opens the door. “I’m so sorry, Steve, I didn’t mean it -“

“Tony,” Steve breathes. He feels like his eyes have failed him, like this isn’t truly Tony in front of him. Because how could it be? Tony is supposed to be in Malibu, supposed to be curled up in bed at one of his newly inherited mansions, mourning his parents, surely, but not Steve. He shouldn’t be missing Steve. He doesn’t love him.

But Tony is here, and he continues as if Steve hadn’t spoken. “I didn’t, I swear, I love you, Steve, I’m sorry -“

“Shh,” Steve hushes, finally stepping forward to pull Tony into his arms. “I know you didn’t, it’s okay, it’s okay.”

Tony’s almost hesitant at first, and then something seems to click and he’s sinking into Steve’s hold, hands fisted in the back of Steve’s shirt, wet face buried in Steve’s neck.

“I’m sorry,” he says, again and again. “I love you, I love you.”

“Shh,” Steve murmurs, rubbing his hands up and down Tony’s back. Tony feels limp, like he’s barely holding himself upright, and Steve himself feels a little weak so he sinks down to his knees, pulling Tony with him. The hard planks of the deck are wet and biting, but it’s a pleasant pain, grounding. Tony is here. Tony is in Steve’s arms. “Shh, sweetheart, it’s okay, I forgive you.”

Tony’s breath catches in his throat. “Steve,” he sobs.

“I forgive you,” Steve says, sounding far calmer than he should. He feels like he’s watching this scene in a movie, the pivotal moment, and he knows how it will go even as he’s surprised it’s happening to him. “I love you. It’s okay, sweetheart, you’re okay.”

“Steve, what’s - oh.”

Steve hears Bucky pause behind him, and cradles Tony a little closer even as Tony stills in his arms.“It’s okay, Tony,” he reassures him. “Nobody’s mad at you, okay?”

“I’m sorry,” Tony mumbles into the juncture of Steve’s neck and jaw. “I didn’t mean it, I’m so sorry.”

“I know, I know,” Steve says, feeling tears stinging at his eyes. God, as horrible as these past few weeks have been for Steve, he can’t imagine how much Tony’s been hurting.

“You should come inside,” Bucky says, voice even and steady. “It’s cold out, and neither of you are wearing a coat.”

“In a minute,” Steve says. Tony curls a little closer to him, the lines of his body pressing up firmer against Steve, and Steve gives himself a moment to just savor it. Despite all the obstacles they have coming at them, despite all the pain and the tears on Tony’s cheeks that make Steve’s chest burn, he can have this. Tony is here.

Eventually, they do make it inside. Steve has to tug Tony to his feet, since Tony won’t let go of him, even for a second, but eventually they end up curled together on the living room couch. Bucky tosses them a blanket, and when Steve unfurls it, he finds it’s his threadbare Star Wars blanket, the soft fleece one Tony hand gotten him last Christmas. He spread it over the both of them, splaying his hands across Tony’s back, and burying his face in Tony’s hair. They warm each other up.

“I’m sorry,” Tony mumbles every few minutes, just loud enough for Steve to hear. “I’m sorry, I love you.”

In response, Steve kisses him on the temple, or the forehead, or the cheek. “I know,” he says, over and over again. “I know, and I love you, too.”


End file.
